


Too Old For This

by wolfworldstars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfworldstars/pseuds/wolfworldstars
Summary: Norway was once young and carefree, but now he's getting old and all he can do is remember those times
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Too Old For This

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote for Hetalia Writers Monthly, for the prompt laughter/tears. It's shorter than most things I'd post on ao3 but I think it's some of my best writing so here it is

Norway sprinted over the mountains. The wind tore pale locks free from their sturdy braids which bounced against his shoulders, and his eyes streamed from the cold and the loose strands batting against them. His blurred vision was no object, though. He knew this land like the back of his hand. It was his land, as much a part of his being as his own soul. He knew every tree, every river, every little bump in the ground. His triumphant laughter echoed through the valleys, in perfect harmony with the birdsong and the whistling of the wind.

A force from the side knocked the breath out of him, strong arms around his waist tackling him to the ground. He tried to wrench his assailant’s arms away from himself as they tumbled across the grass, rolling down the hill, but he was taken over by giggles. Only when they’d come to a halt and the grip relaxed could he escape, but all he did was shift so his back rested against the grass, staying in the warm embrace of the other.

“Too slow,” Denmark smirked though he was panting heavily, turning his head to face Norway.

“You cheated.” Norway muttered, his head falling back against the dirt as he caught his breath. 

“You’re just getting old.” Denmark poked his cheek with a grin.

Norway sighed, trying to feign annoyance, but a smile as bright and calm as the clear sky above them spread across his face. He really was getting too old for this. Just decades ago, he could race across the land with his friend while they trained, tumbling and wrestling through the fields and forests without a care in the world. He could still run, could still fight. But now lying on the grass with Denmark’s muscular arm draped over his chest felt different. Now, the Dane’s breath on his cheek made his heart flutter. The feelings were confusing, all he knew was that the rest of the world could have disappeared and he wouldn’t have cared. In that moment, lying on the land he loved so much and looking into Denmark’ eyes, he had everything he could ever want.

* * *

The sound of a tear falling into his coffee dragged him out of his thoughts. Though the flames in the hearth flickered in front of him, they brought no warmth to his heart, and his cosy log cabin filled with cushions, crocheted blankets and knitted throws offered no comfort.

The memory was pleasant enough, but now it left a bitter aftertaste. Something which used to bring him joy to recall was reduced to a reminder of what had been, a time he longed for but could never get back. He didn’t laugh like that anymore. He couldn’t be that carefree after everything that had happened. Solitude surrounded him now; he didn’t just remain physically far from people, but emotionally as well. Though he loved his citizens, he couldn’t bring himself to talk to them, to get attached to anyone whose lifetime would pass in an instant. Denmark of course still tried to reach out to him, but Norway did everything he could to push his old friend away. And that was how he had to exist. Alone, unable to trust anyone or anything, even his own feelings. Because feelings were complicated and dangerous, they made him weak and blind to reality. He might have been in love, once. Perhaps he still had feelings akin to that, but he pushed them down, trying his best to crush them until they were only whispers on the edge of his mind. Love, he decided, wasn’t worth his time. It could only end in heartbreak.

His sigh made the surface of the coffee ripple. He was getting too old for this. Too old to hurt over memories from a millennia ago. Too old to carry the weight of his existence, of his country’s existence, on his shoulders.

Before he knew anyone else, there had been Denmark. The other lonely immortal who longed for companionship of someone like him. Nobody had been as close as the two of them, who clung to each other in a world where the lives of others were so frail and brief. Bitter, childish tears seeped over his cheeks. Nothing was supposed to change. They weren’t supposed to let their roles as nations come between them. None of this was _supposed_ to happen. He clenched the mug, his fingers turning white. Someone like America would have broken the mug with that kind of grip. But he wasn’t America. He wasn’t that strong.

He was old, and he was tired. Though he had the body of a 20-year-old, he’d been alive for over a thousand years. And that exhausted him. When he was younger, he never would have thought that just existing could be so draining. All he could do was sip his coffee as he watched the flames flicker, laughter of the past echoing in his mind and tears of the present pouring down his face.


End file.
